


Well, that was unexpected...

by orphan_account



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A short, humorous fic for theNovember trope challenge. After Jack and Phryne share an unexpected evening together, the morning brings more surprises.





	Well, that was unexpected...

**Author's Note:**

> Picture your favorite, consummated, version of the "there's only one bed" trope. This fic starts right after that...

Bright sunlight streamed through the cabin window onto the small bed that occupied most of the space in the tiny bedroom. 

Phryne, for her part, occupied most of the space in that bed. As she stretched and opened her eyes, she felt contented, sated, and suffused with joy at the thought that this past night, of all nights, had been the one where she and Jack had finally indulged (and indulged) their desire for one another. 

The police car had broken down late at night in the middle of nowhere. The skies had opened up with torrential rain. An abandoned (but conveniently furnished) cabin had been their only available shelter. And, as if anything else were possible, given the cliched turn of events, there had been only one bed. Jack had stammered anxiously. Phryne’s practicality put him at ease. In the end, drawn together in such intimate circumstances, they had given in to what they both truly wanted. 

What Phryne wanted again, as soon as possible. 

She pulled a blanket around her bare shoulders and eased out of bed, certain Jack was in the next room. But at the bedroom door she stopped short. There were other voices coming from the front porch. 

“I understand the cabin belongs to you, Mr. Thomas,” Jack said. “If you’d put down the weapon and allow me to get my identification.” 

“The weapon stays right where it is,” the first voice replied. 

Phryne peered around the door jamb, trying to assess Jack’s situation without drawing attention to herself or her state of undress. 

“It _is_ a police car, Pop,” the second voice intoned. 

“Could be stolen,” the older man stated firmly. “Just like he stole this cabin.” 

Jack backed away from the front door, hands raised, movements slow and steady. “I’m Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. My partner and I drove out yesterday to investigate a lead in the murder of your neighbor, Russell Johnson.” 

“Russ got stabbed in Melbourne,” the younger Mr. Thomas supplied matter-of-factly. 

“Precisely,” Jack stated. "We believe we've found the evidence that will reveal the culprit, but were unable to return to Melbourne last night." Jack locked eyes with the elder Mr. Thomas, the one who held the shotgun, “I’m walking to the kitchen to gather my badge.” 

Old man Thomas nodded his assent, taking three steps into the cabin’s front room so that he could keep Jack firmly in his sights. "You should keep that badge on you, shouldn't you Robinson? On your person." 

Jack accepted the older man's admonishment without reply. The minor humiliation was a small price to pay to escape the situation unscathed. 

As Jack fumbled in the dark kitchen, he caught Phryne’s gaze where she stood in the bedroom doorway. _“Step back,”_ he silently implored, hoping that their previous evening’s wordless understanding of body and emotion might carry through to this morning’s circumstance. _“Not while you’re in danger,”_ her eyes conveyed in return. Jack wanted to smile, but with Mr. Thomas’ glare and gun upon him, he summoned every remaining ounce of self-control to remain stoic. 

“Oi. What’s this?” the younger Thomas shouted suddenly. Jack turned to see the man pawing Phryne’s black beaded gown where it lay across the arm of the room’s solitary chair. “I don’t think you are a copper after all! You stole that police car and busted in here to have a go with some Sheila!” 

Phryne heard a distinct metallic click as the younger man cocked his gun. Without thinking — there was no time — she strode confidently from the bedroom, blanket draped low and loose about her mid-section, and parked herself dead center between the men and Jack. 

“He’s Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” Phryne stated, her voice so loud and commanding that no man present could doubt the veracity of her statement. “I am his partner. And his wife.” 


End file.
